The War Of The Wine
by Muriel Candytuft
Summary: Lucy seeks sweet revenge and gets more than she bargained for. Chapter 3 Up! Sorry it took so long.
1. Chapter 1: Spoiled Wine

The War of The Wine

Chapter 1

_A/N: Set in the Golden Age of Narnia, 4 years after Jadis's defeat. If you've read "Beloved" or "Frozen Memories", you probably know that I do not support slash of any kind. Rated PG (K+) to be safe. Don't worry, "Frozen Memories" will be updated soon, I promise!_

_Cair Paravel, Narnian year 1004_

"Come on, Peter, pleeeease," Lucy teased, attempting to make her blue eyes as cute as possible.

"No, Lucy, you can't use the lower dining hall today," Peter answered for the tenth time. His voice, congested with a cold, betrayed impatience as he marched across the airy office at Cair Paravel. "I need it for the banquet with the governor of the Lone Islands."

From her seat on the other side of the office, Susan spoke up worriedly: "Peter, which colour napkins should I use?"

"Do I care?" Peter groaned irritably. "Just use the red ones."

"The red! But they're not—"

"Oh, come off it, anything's good enough for that silly Governor Dalmas." Peter sneezed as he threw a drawer open and began leafing through a bundle of papers.

Lucy tugged hard on Peter's sleeve. "But what about my spring party?" she whined.

"Just have it in the courtyard."

"But it's raining!"

"That's not my problem," Peter replied shortly. "Ugh, where is the copy of that miserable tribute agreement, Susan?"

"I don't know. I'd better find the housekeeper and tell her about the napkins," Susan stood up and quietly exited the office, saying, "If you go outside today, Peter, be sure to dress warmly; we don't need your cold getting worse."

"I'm Queen of Narnia just as much as you are King," Lucy groused at Peter as she slouched in her chair. "So I have as much right to use whatever room in this castle—"

"Actually, you don't," Peter snapped, slamming a drawer shut. "I'm High King, and I got the lower dining hall first, so you just have to suck it up!" With that and another sneeze, Peter flung out of the office.

Lucy sat up straight in her chair and shouted angrily, "You'll be sorry for lording it over like that, Peter! See if you aren't!"

"Edmund!" Lucy called, hammering her small fist against her brother's door. "Edmund, get out of there, I need you!"

From the other side of the tall door, Lucy heard her Edmund's annoyed moan and quick footsteps. The door did not open, but Edmund's voice replied, "What is it, Lucy?"

"I'm going to get Peter back for hogging the lower dining hall and being a prig," Lucy announced, folding her arms against her chest.

"And?"

"And I need you to help me," Lucy finished.

Finally, the door opened and Edmund appeared, dark eyes glittering with mischief. "What did you have in mind?"

"Isn't there some bad wine left in the kitchen?"

Edmund nodded. "I told the housekeeper to get rid of it, but they've all been so busy getting ready for Governor Dalmas that there may yet be some barrels down there."

"That's good," Lucy clapped her hands together. "I'm going to need some."

Though the servants continually protested that the kitchen was below Lucy's station, she liked the warm, homey place and visited there frequently to chat with Finola, a dryad who swept the floor. but this afternoon, she was on a mission for revenge.

"Finola," she began, entering the kitchen.

Finola looked up, and, pinching the sides of her mossy skirt, ducked into a curtsey. "Good afternoon, Your Majesty. You look lovely today."

Lucy smiled at the compliment, and spoke again. "Finola, dear, might I have a flagon of that wine you're about to get rid of?"

An unmistakeable surprise appeared in Finola's eyes. "Ah...Your Majesty, that wine has gone bad, you know."

"I know," Lucy echoed urgently. "But Edmund's stomach is upset. You know how he always gets the quissies on cold spring days."

"Oh," Finola nodded understandingly, "but...wouldn't it be better to give him new wine?"

"Ah, well..." Lucy stammered, scouring her brain frantically for another lie. "Well, I--I didn't--uh, old wine works faster. And h-he is quite out of temper; we need to get him better as soon as we can."

Finola readily picked up a wooden flagon and moved towards the barrels.

"Uh, Finola," Lucy said quickly, "I need the crystal flagon."

"Crystal? Why, what for, Your Majesty?"

Lucy tried to make her face grave and hopeless. "Edmund's in a _very, very_ bad mood. It must be a _terrible _stomach-ache."

At last, much to Lucy's relief, Finola had given her a crystal flagon, brimming with the rancid wine. With polite thanks, Lucy retreated from the kitchen. Edmund waited outside the door, barely able to control his laughter.

"Don't go on like that," Lucy shook her head. "Well, at least she let me have this wine." She marched up the stairs, carefully balancing the flagon in her small hands.

Edmund followed quickly, saying "There's just one thing. Won't Peter be able to tell that it's bad wine?"

"Of course not," Lucy negated. "He can't smell or taste a thing with his cold."

"So what are we going to tell him it is?"

Lucy stopped and faced Edmund, a wicked smile spreading across his face. "Do you know how much Peter likes mulled apple cider?"


	2. Chapter 2: Textiles

Chapter 2

Governor Dalmas couldn't have recieved a warmer, more gracious welcome from any ruler except the young monarchs of Narnia. Susan had seen to it that everything in Cair Paravel was clean, neat, in apple-pie order. The marble floors glowed under warm candlelight and cool moonlight that the rain had given way to. Curling fronds of ivy graced almost every object in the lower dining hall. Dryads and fauns scurried to and fro, seeing to it that Peter's guests were served well. Near the high windows, a Naiad plucked at a harp and sang a ballad about Moonwood the Hare. Everything was perfect.

Lucy, crouching in her little alcove just off the dining hall, watched the activity. The ladies who had come from the Lone Islands with Governor Dalmas were quite pretty, but she believed that none were as beautiful as her older sister. Most of her charm came from her hospitality and friendliness, but the strand of rubies she'd woven into her dark hair certainly didn't detract from that charm.

Of course, Peter was turning out to be a splendid host: courteous, but not overly formal; regal, but not overbearing; clever, but not annoying. And his grey eyes and rough gold-brown hair complemented his royal blue tunic so handsomely that he had a few of the Islands ladies blushing and giggling behind their fans. He had been so successful so far that Lucy almost felt sorry for what she was about to put him through.

_Almost_.

"You still want to go through with this?" Edmund demanded behind her.

Lucy pushed her temporary guilt aside and arched an eyebrow at him. "What do you think? He spoiled my spring party."

Edmund shrugged. "If Susan finds out and comes after you with a lecture, don't expect me to stick around."

All right. She could risk that. She snapped to attention as she heard Susan call, "Finola, bring around the wine."

Finola entered the dining hall, balancing three crystal flagons on a silver tray. At Peter's sudden silence, Susan added, "My lord, I know you hate wine, so I ordered mulled cider for you."

"That's what you think," Lucy thought to herself, smiling at how nobody had seen her trade the flagon of cider for the flagon of spoiled wine a few minutes ago. She'd made sure that Peter would mistake it for mulled cider by adding an artistic little garnish of apple peel and cinnamon stick.

"Thank you, Susan," Peter replied, with a quick, quiet "Don't call me 'm'lord' in front of everyone."

"I must say, King Peter," Governor Dalmas began indulgently, "You certainly know how to serve a good dinner."

"It was mostly Queen Susan's doing, m'lord," Peter countered politely, pouring himself a small portion of the spoiled wine.

"No good," Edmund whispered to Lucy. "He only took half a glass."

"Give it time," Lucy hissed back.

"I suppose now is a good a time as any to hear your report about the economical history of the Islands," Peter said to the Governor, carefully sipping his drink.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Governor Dalmas clapped his meaty hands together, and a thin footman handed him a scroll. Deliberately, Dalmas unrolled the scroll and began reading: "The Economical History Of The Lone Islands For The Year 1004. Item One: Annual Tribute To The Narnian Crown, 200,000 Crescents."

Peter nodded as he sipped his drink again.

"Item Two: Taxes Collected From The Islanders, 2,547,861 Crescents and 17 Minim."

And now Peter's glass was empty.

"Item Three: National Debt, 406,472,573,254,003 Crescents."

Wincing at the high figure, Peter reached, with utmost decorum, for the flagon with the cinnamon stick and apple. Lucy and Edmund glanced at each other, biting their lips to stop grins as Peter filled his glass all the way this time.

"Item Four: Unemployment Rate, 36.553. Item Five: Minimum Wage, 18 Crescents and half."

Susan yawned silently and delicately as Peter drained his glass.

"Item Six: Average Annual Net Income of the Islanders, 315,000 Crescents and 45 Minim Per Annum."

Lucy noticed that Peter's hand was a bit unsteady as he poured himself a third glass of what he believed was mulled apple cider. She choked down a giggle.

"Item Seven: Main Industries of the Lone Islands. Exportation of grain and livestock. Ironworks."

Suddenly, the Governor's dull voice was interrupted by a snicker--from Peter. After a moment of indignant silence, he continued.

"Textiles."

"TEXTILES! Ha ha ha ha!"

Much to poor Susan's embarrassment and horror, Peter burst into laughter. The Governor stopped talking and gawked at Peter; the Islanders gawked right along with him. Peter didn't seem to care, he only gasped, hugging his gut, "Oh, my God, textiles! Have you--Su, have you ever heard such a ridiculous--what is this bloody world coming to?"

Susan looked most uncomfortable, but try to retain her poise. Lucy jammed her fist up to her mouth, trying to stifle her own laughter.

"Um, your Majesty," Governor Dalmas said hesitantly.

Peter struggled to control himself. "Right--ha ha--right. I'm terribly sorry. Please c-continue." He slouched in his chair. The Governor began droning from the scroll again.

"Fishing. Item Eight--"

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Susan glared at Peter, lips held tightly together. Noticing her, Peter quieted down, and reached for his glass again. His hands wavered noticeably. He took a rather messy gulp, returned the cup to its place, and bent over the table.

"Item Eight--" Governor Dalmas began again.

"Have you ever looked at this tablecloth?" Peter slurred loudly. "I mean _really_ looked at this tablecloth? It's almost like..." Peter snorted, and then ground out the dreaded word, "...textiles!" Again he roared with laughter.

"Your Majesty?" Governor Dalmas asked.

"Hold on, I ain't done talking yet," Peter ordered, waving his hands in front of him and knocking Susan's wine over. Susan jumped to her feet angrily, but Peter continued, "The other day, I says to him, 'This tablecloth needs beating', and he said...oh, God, you'll love this. I says 'beat the tablecloth', and he says..." But nobody ever found out what 'he' said, because another unholy fit of laughter took over Peter again.

It was all Lucy could do not to laugh aloud, but a shriek of laughter managed to escape into the lower dining hall. Fortunately (or else not so fortunately) only Susan heard. She noticed Lucy in her hiding spot. Lucy gasped and ducked out of view. When she dared to peek at the dining table again, Susan had stood up and was calmly escorting Peter out of the room, saying, "I think my brother needs to rest for a bit. I do apologise, Governor." As she pushed Peter towards the balcony, she threw a blistering glance at Lucy over her shoulder, and through grit teeth, mouthed the words, "Come here!"

Lucy turned fearfully to Edmund. "I think we went too far."

"We?" Edmund smirked. "This was all your idea. I was only watching."

Biting her lip, Lucy pushed herself out of her hiding place and inconspicuously retreated from the dining hall.


	3. Chapter 3: Hangover

Chapter 3

When Lucy reached the balcony, she stepped back involuntarily as Susan propped Peter up against the wall. "What has gotten into you?" she demanded.

"Textiles," Peter grinned.

An angry groan burst from Susan, and she slapped Peter so hard that his head jerked to the side. "Stop it, you bally idiot!" she barked.

"Why are you hitting me?" Peter snapped defensively, unsteadily placing his hand on his stinging face.

"Because you need it." Susan wheeled about and faced Lucy. "What's going on?"

"What are you talking about?" Lucy asked sweetly.

Susan's eyes blazed. "Don't play innocent with me, Lucy, you're behind this somehow; either you or Edmund. Now out with it!"

"I don't know what's going on," Lucy persisted.

"Oh, get off her back, Susan," Peter slurred. Susan glared straight at his face, but unfortunately, Peter sneezed.

"Augh!" Susan stepped back and wiped her face. "PETER! What in the--why does your breath smell like wine?"

"What?"

"Your breath smells like wine," Susan repeated. She placed her hands on her hips. "Why?"

"Wait a minute," Peter protested, "I didn't drink any, I swear!"

Susan whirled on her heel and marched back into the dining hall. When she returned, her face was quite red. "Peter, you were drinking wine and it was spoiled, too!"

"I was?"

"If you didn't know, then I guess I forgive you; but for pity's sake, couldn't you smell it?"

"No, I can't smell anything," Peter defended himself. Suddenly he wrapped his arms around his stomach and moaned, "Oh, good God--I think I'm--"

"You think what?" Susan asked. Her answer was Peter leaning over the balustrade and retching. Lucy watched him and suddenly felt quite sorry for what she'd done.

"_Ohhhhh,_" Susan groaned. "How did he get wine instead of cider? And of course, he _would_ catch cold right before someone gives him stupid spolied wine. I'll have to speak to Finola about this." She began to retreat toward the dining hall.

"It was my fault," Lucy cried out quickly, reaching out and grabbing Susan's elbow. "I was mad at him for not letting me have the hall for my spring party." She lowered her blue eyes guiltily. "I'm sorry, Susan."

Susan, after a long pause, folded her arms across her chest and spoke sternly. "Lucy, I'm glad you told the truth, and I'm glad you're sorry, but--" With an exasperated roll of her eyes, she let her arms fall to her side. "--but in this case, being sorry isn't enough. You've gotten Peter sick, you've muffed this banquet that I worked so hard to arrange, you've outraged the Lone Islanders. You've embarrassed the whole Narnian court and I'm sorry for it."

Lucy's eyes filled with tears and she bit her lower lip, and Susan softened. "Maybe it isn't as bad as all that. Or at least it won't be when this whole stupid night is yesterday's news." She sighed. "But it won't be yesterday's news until--"

"Until I make it right," Lucy finished quietly.

Governor Dalmas and his courtiers were rather irritated by the time Lucy re-entered the dining hall from the balcony. Lucy stood at the table in view of everyone, glanced at all their curious, annoyed faces, took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Friends, Governor--King Peter is indisposed. His Majesty requests that the day after tomorrow you have luncheon with us, so you may more properly discuss the eco--ecomonmi--emoconical--"

"Economical," Edmund, who was still in his hiding place, whispered loudly.

"I'm terribly sorry--economical history of your state. And now, I Queen Lucy, have a confession to make. This delay in your plans is all my doing. I was angry at my royal brother, and have been the cause of His Majesty's embarrassment and illness. I cry you all mercy for my foolishness," Lucy finished, with a sincerely repentant face.

Governor Dalmas stood up baggily, a smile on his chunky face. "You have our mercy, I'm sure, m'lady; and of course I accept His Majesty's invitation to luncheon in two days."

"Thank you, Governor," Lucy replied with a curtsey, relief sweeping happily through her brain. "And now do allow me to make amends by sending another round of wine."

Edmund slapped hisforehead with his hand.

And now the Governor laughed. "Nay, m'lady, I think we've had quite enough drink for one night!"

A monstrous hangover kept Peter in his room all the next day.

"See why hates wine so much?" Susan observed dryly to Lucy.

The following morning, Lucy crept into Peter's apartments. A faun attendant waiting in the receiving room, on noticing Lucy, bowed low to her. "Good morning, m'lady."

"Lindus," Lucy replied as she curtsied. "I want to talk to Peter. Will you please ask if he's seeing anyone?"

"His Majesty hasn't seen anyone since yesterday, m'lady, but I'll check." With another bow, Lindus knocked on the door to Peter's room and then entered.

Lucy sat down on the marble floor and stared absentmindedly at the wood ceiling's intricate, hypnotising carvings of Celtic-style knots. Susan had comissioned those carvings for all her siblings' apartments, despite vigorous protests from Edmund. Lucy thought they were perfectly beautiful.

As Lindus came back into the receiving room, Lucy was still gazing at the carved ceiling. "King Peter will see you now, m'lady," Lindus announced, and he ducked out of the apartments, but Lucy barely heard.

"Nice ceiling, eh?" Peter's voice jarred her from her daydreams of the ceiling, and she glanced at him as he entered. Except for his tunic, which he carried in his hand, he was dressed for his audience with the Governor. His face showed no apparent happiness at Lucy's visit.

"Peter, let me explain," Lucy began urgently, standing up.

Susan found Edmund standing outside Peter's reception room, ear smashed against the closed door.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanna hear what Pete has to say to Lu, now shhhh!" Edmund hissed, straining his ears.

Susan put her hands on her hips. "You had something to do with this, didn't you, Ed?"

"Me!" Edmund feigned shock as he turned to face Susan. "What would I have to do with it?"

"I happen to know that you know how to pronounce 'economical'," Susan smirked.

Edmund stared at her for a moment, and finally shrugged guiltily. "Yeah, I guess I helped a little."

Susan pressed her lips together tightly.

"But I'm really really sorry and I'll never let it happen again!" Edmund added hastily.

"Good, then you don't need to worry yourself about it anymore," Susan replied, and with that, she dragged Edmund away from the door.

"But why did you do it?" Peter demanded of Lucy again, pulling his tunic over his head.

Lucy, sitting in a chair nearby, shook her head. "I wanted to get back at you for not letting me have a spring party in the lower dining hall. And I knew you wouldn't realize it was wine, becuase of your cold."

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I really am sorry, Peter. Really. Will you forgive me? Pleeease?" As she had a few days ago, she put on her biggest, cute blue eyes.

Peter sighed and offered a faint smile. "All right. We'll make it pax."

"Thank you, Peter," Lucy said humbly, relieved. "Well, I'd better go and help Susan and Finola with lunch." She stood up.

"Can I trust you with that?" Peter asked slyly, exiting his apartments.

Lucy laughed in exasperation and followed him. "I'll take my chances."


End file.
